


The Last Dance

by asthora



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Action/Adventure, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Romance, F/M, Slow Burn, fun and games in the mojave with an angry courier and a loser in a dumb jacket
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-05-04 14:29:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14595033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asthora/pseuds/asthora
Summary: Courier Six has done many dumb things in her lifetime. She's crossed minefields, strolled through rad-infested desert dumps, and gone head to head with the biggest baddies in the Mojave. Nevertheless, inviting Benny back to New Vegas might be the stupidest thing she's ever done.





	1. Chapter 1

Crazy.

Goddamn mother-fucking _crazy_.

Benny doesn’t know if he means himself or the broad bathed in blood who’s just smashed in a Legionnaire's head with the heel of her boot.  God, he thinks he fucking _loves_ her.  

_Ha, love!_

He’s confusing love for lust.  He does that often. Once, he thought he loved a hooker but when he realized he remembered every detail about her tits, but not her name, he threw the notion of love out the window.  This is similar. He knows the courier’s tits too. Saw them a couple of nights ago in his suite. Thought he would never see them again but hey, he’s thinking he might have a chance at round two if she decides to let his mangy ass go free.

_A fucking pipe dream._

_  
_ The courier empties a clip then uses the butt of her rifle to break one guy’s jaw then another poor soul’s nose.  Her companion, a man with a buzz cut who screams NCR even without the stupid beret, finishes them off with a few efficient shots to the gut.  Benny has never seen so much blood in his life. Something about it is arousing. Or rather, watching the courier do her dance of death is arousing.  The bodies, the blood, the severed limbs, it’s somehow _just_ the right background for this celestial wasteland bitch.

How can this be the same gal he ravaged in his bed a few nights ago?  He wonders if he made it up. A dream he conjured. No, he couldn’t have.  The image of the courier laid out across his bed like a four course meal has been the only way he’s been able to survive the fucking nightmare he’s endured in this camp.  That night was real, just like this impossible slaughter is real.

He’s wandered into the world’s best show.  A front row seat to the showdown of the century.  She unceremoniously beheads Caesar. Takes a fucking baseball bat to his head like it’s 2077.  A home fucking run. Then his goddamn lapdog, Vulpes, the most evil son of a bitch from here to New Vegas and back, is just laid out like a nice steak, butchered and bloodied and fucked over until he’s ground brahmin and the courier is standing over his body triumphantly.

Benny can’t believe he bagged this broad.  

She’s a nightmare.  A daydream. A scourge on this earth and she isn’t finished purifying the desert just yet.

The courier moves on, leaving the confines of the tent while he stays put on his knees, tied up like slaughterhouse brahmin waiting for the send off.

“ _Christ_ ,” he says under his breath.

Off to the side, the severed head of Caesar is looking back at him with wide, startled eyes.  What a sight. Any other day he would rejoice, _the great Caesar is dead_!  But he’d like to rejoice in the comfort of The Tops or at least somewhere that isn’t the dying black heart of the Legion.

He waits patiently, because that’s all he can do.  He listens to the sound of bullets flying and grown men screaming.  He wonders about the logistics of taking out the entire Legion camp, something the NCR has been wanting to do since the skirt wearing assholes plopped down across the Colorado.  He guesses it all came down to the fact that she had the balls where the NCR’s turned blue. Then it helped that she had the jump on them. She had Caesar's trust. Never did the wrinkly old bastard think that a woman could send him flying from his pedestal.  Maybe that was all she needed.

A risky move, one Benny isn’t sure he would make, but he trusts the courier to do things right.  She has more luck than Lady Luck herself. She’s also batshit crazy.

He’s beginning to wonder if the crazy broad is ever coming back when a weird silence settles over the camp.  There isn’t even any pathetic moaning of survivors. The bitch killed them all. He laughs into the void.

_Dead!_

The flap of the tent rustles and Benny straightens and lifts his chin, as if that’s going to help him look any more authoritative while he’s down on his knees like a New Vegas tramp.  He supposes he should have taken this time to think of how he could convince her to let him live. But, the time has passed, and he blames dehydration and an empty stomach for the poor judgement call.

He’s as good as dead.

The courier walks towards him.  She takes big strides, walks with shoulders thrown back and her chin held high as if she’s going somewhere important.  She crouches right in front of him, so close he could count the freckles that pepper the bridge of her nose if he was so inclined.

“So pussycat,” he says.  “What’s next?”

She cocks her head  and gives him a shit-eating grin.  If he was nervous before, he’s sweating bullets now.  To think just seconds ago he was pondering walking out of this camp a free man.  The look in the courier’s eyes is downright devilish.

“I didn’t really plan this far,” she answers.  A lie. Of course she did. She’s like him, she sees all the angles and plans appropriately.  She knows exactly what she’s going to do and she’s gonna let him sweat over it for a few minutes.

“Time keeps on ticking, babydoll.  If you don’t make up your mind soon, we’ll be dancing in the dark.”  He laughs, but it sounds brittle and forced. _Fuck_.  Charming his way out of this one is out of the question.

She laughs too.  “I like the dark.”

The courier stands up and puts a hand on her hip.  She’s wearing next to nothing, ripped jeans and a white tank top that has a few holes and more than one blood stain.   _How is she not dead?_  Maybe it’s all the crazy in her that keeps her kicking.  If two bullets to the noggin can’t send her off, the Legion can’t touch her.  She’s goddamn immortal and he doesn’t have a chance up against her.

“I get it pussycat.  Fair is fair. And eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.  I deserve the worst,” he says. Trying to woo her cold cold heart with pitiful moaning isn’t his best card, but doesn’t have the ideal hand to work with.  He’s going to count his blessings and remember she didn’t stick him with that switchblade she had stuffed in her bra the other night. She’s had the chance to kill him.  Or maybe she was just waiting for this moment.

She raises an eyebrow.  “So you’re ready to die?”

“Well,” he gives her his slickest smile, the one that makes broads collapse into his arms.  “I wouldn’t say _ready_.  Just accepting and  thanking god above that a barn-burner like yourself is the one to bump me off and not some common wasteland fink.”

“You know how to charm a girl, Benny.” She deadpans.

“It’s a talent, what can I say?”

She lets out a long sigh.  He can tell she’s thinking, but he isn’t sure about what.  Which way to kill him perhaps? Is she considering crucifixion?  He wouldn’t put it past her. But maybe, the cross isn’t her style.  A good throat slash perhaps, or maybe she wants to send him out the same way he tried to kill her.   _Bam bam_.  

He wishes she would just do it so he wouldn’t have to keep waiting.  He’s been on his knees for so long that his legs have gone numb. The first few hours were torture.  He felt every grain of Mojave sand through his slacks, biting his skin and eventually making him bleed.  He doesn’t feel anything anymore, wishes that the feeling would extend to his racing heart and sweaty armpits.  He wishes she would just kill him so the fear would go away. He hates fear.

But she doesn’t seem to want to get the show on the road because she just stands there.  She looks at him for awhile. She chews on her lip. Circles him, running a hand through his greasy hair.  He would like it if she wasn’t tearing at the roots. At one point she stops and starts cleaning the blood from her fingernails with water from her canteen and a decently clean portion of his dusty checkered coat.  Benny wants to fucking scream.

“Pussycat-”

“No,” she says.  “Don’t speak. I’m enjoying the silence.”

She goes back to her circling.  This time she has a knife. Sometimes she pokes him with it.  Gentle, not hard, just enough to sting but not enough to draw blood.  He knows he’s being teased. Oh, she is a _nasty_ one.  Every single jab chips away at his oh so holy pride, his carefully crafted cool cat image.  The bitch knows where to hit him where it hurts and he isn’t sure if he should applaud her or fucking lunge and try to rip her throat out with his teeth.

_Woah.  Slow down there Benny-boy._

What a thought.  What a very _tribal_ thought.  

Goddamnit, she’s wearing him down.  He has to focus.

But he’s tired, dehydrated, and he’s pretty sure he has a concussion from all those beatings the Legion so kindly gave him.  And she keeps going and going and _going_ .  When he think she’s going to stop, she _doesn’t_.  He’s a doormat.  The courier wipes her boots on his slacks, spits in his hair, prods his bruises until he makes unholy noises.

Fuck he _hates_ her.  He _loves_ her.

At one point, her companion, the NCR fuck with the stupid hat, comes in to check on her but she waves him away and keeps up her torture.  Isn’t she afraid of Legion reinforcements? Doesn’t she want to get out of here? Move on with her life and leave him bleeding into the desert like the rest of her enemies?

Benny tries to think of it in a good light.  He’s the worst of the worst. Her number one bad guy.  He’s getting the star treatment. Caesar wasn’t important enough for her to kick and toss around in the dirt.  He should feel flattered. That helps prop up his ailing ego a bit. He holds onto that as she slaps him. Once, twice, _ow_.

She crouches in front of him again.  She’s even closer this time. Like really close, like _oh boy_ , he can _smell_ her.   _Fuck_.  Her baby blues are shining like neons.  She smells like sweat and blood and gunpowder.  A heady blend of the wasteland’s choice aromas. She smells like Boot Rider, looks like New Vegas.

“I think I’m done,” she says.  “I’m getting bored. You aren’t mouthy today, Benny.  I’m disappointed.”

He gives a tired smile.  “Sorry, honeybaby. You caught me on a bad day.  Blame the concussion and the broken ribs.”

The courier pats him on the shoulder.  “You’ve been a good sport, Benny. The best out of this whole goddamn game.”

“Well now I’m flattered, baby.  You’ve been 18 karat yourself, a real gasser.” He says.

“Ready for the send out?” She whispers.

“Endsville, next stop.”

The courier smiles and runs her finger along the rusted blade of her knife.  So she’s going with the classic hack and slash. Here she is again, catching him off guard.  What a broad.

He thinks about closing his eyes but he ain’t a fink.  He squints a little instead. He doesn’t want to seem too eager to meet the executioner’s axe.  She leans in closer, closer, closer. The edge of the blade is up against his throat. It’s warm like it’s sucked up some of the Legion blood and now has a dark heart of its own.

He waits.

Any minute now.

Tick tock.

_Why the fuck is she taking so long?_

The courier lowers her blade and the rope around his wrists suddenly falls into the dirt.  Is this a joke? He looks down at his bleeding wrists and flexes his fingers. They’re stiff.  The blood rushing back into his hands is painful and his vision goes blurry for half a second. He isn’t sure if he should rejoice just yet.  What if this is a trick? Another cruel torture device? He watches her carefully as she reaches behind her and pulls out Maria.

Fuck.   _Maria_.

His number one broad.  His companion. His first love.

She sets it before him gently as if she were setting down a puppy.  The courier looks up at him.

“I can’t fucking kill you.  I would like to but it just doesn’t feel right.  You deserve worse than death. Life will fuck you over more than I can.” She says.

“You letting your number one most wanted walk free?”  He can’t believe it. He just can’t. The bitch is crazier than he thought!  He was ready to die and now he gets to _live_ ?  No, this isn’t how this works.  This isn’t how the law of the wasteland goes.  Like he said, and eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.  That’s how it goes here, that’s how it’s _always_ been.  Even in Vegas.

The courier smiles.  “You’re a fucking prick and I hate you with every fiber of my being.  I’ll kill you one day but it isn’t today.” She throws her canteen at his feet and stands.

“So this is it?  You just gonna let me go free?” He says, clumsily grabbing Maria and checking the clip.  One bullet.

She bites her lip.  “Free is a relative term.  I have one rule. You can’t come to Vegas.  You step one goddamn foot across the line and I’ll blow you sky high.”

His heart drops to his stomach.  His golden city gone. His goddamn home snatched away like a child’s toy.  Benny grinds his teeth together. Would it be a waste to put this one bullet in her head?

 _Yes_.

There isn’t going back to Vegas, something told him that the moment he left the courier naked and asleep in his bed.  Once he crossed into Legion territory, once his plans reached the ear of the Chairman via the courier, there was no way he could walk back into The Tops without one of his boys blowing his brains out.  He went behind their backs, lied to them. He broke rule number one of the Boot Rider code, a code that still hadn’t faded no matter how hard he tried to scrub it out. He’s back to being a wastelander.  A wanderer. A nobody. And Vegas? Well, he trusts the courier enough to do the right thing.

“Alright,” he says.  “You’ll never see me again.  Scramsville here I come.”

“Great!  Then we’re finished here.  Time to cash out.”

He can tell it gives her great pleasure to say that.  The courier slings her rifle over her shoulder, sticks her knife in her boot, and leaves Caesar's tent for the last time.  He doesn’t move. He doesn’t know what to do next. All he’s got is a checkered coat, one bullet, a half empty canteen, and the memory of a golden city in the middle of the desert.  The courier has taken it all from him. Every moment of pain, every trial, every move he’s ever made has been for nothing.

If Benny were a man of superstition, which is _isn’t_ of course, he would maybe chalk it all up to fate.  But fate ain’t a thing. There’s the doing and the done and the rise and the fall and this here is the fall and he’s got no one to blame but himself.  A plan ain’t perfect when you fuck up murdering the one person who needed killing the most. So this right here, this whole fucked up situation, the reason he’s on his knees beside Caesar's detached head, is because he couldn’t do it right.

No more blaming the Courier for his mistakes.  Time to own up, stop being a fink. Benny knows he could keep crying in the rain over spilled brahmin milk but that’s not the Vegas thing to do, _that ain’t the Boot Rider code_.   So he stands, shakily at first, his knees wobbling like an old man’s and when the world stops jumping and jiving he puts one foot in front of the other, unsure of where he’s going for the first time in his life.  Benny walks, his city’s lights forever behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

The Courier is playing tricks on him.

She’s got a heart blacker than an abandoned vault.  She never planned on letting him walk free, just thought it would be fun and games to see him skip off into the sunset only to reel him back in, her executioner’s axe sharpened.

“This isn’t what you think,” she tells him.  “Believe it or not.”

Yeah, like he’s going to let her fool him again.

“You can’t pull the wool over my eyes anymore, baby.  You’re here to kill me.”

Benny had been gone for almost two weeks, hadn’t even gotten the chance to leave the Mojave, when the Courier’s little NCR sniper appeared out of goddamn nowhere.  Benny was just enjoying himself a smoke at the 188 when the beret grabbed his arm, turned him in the direction of New Vegas, and with a gruff  _ let’s go _ , led him to his final resting place.

“Did I not scram fast enough, pussycat?  Was I too slow? A man’s got to take his time when he’s deciding the fate of his future.”

“No, I’m  _ glad _ you didn’t leave the Mojave.   _ Made you easy to find _ .”

Oh, of course.  Her hounds only run so far from the horses.  If he had skedaddled sooner, right now he could be enjoying himself a hooker in New Reno or nursing himself a whiskey neat in some slummy bar.

“Well I’m glad I could convenience  you, baby.”

“Yeah, yeah.  You aim to please.  I’ve heard it all before, Benny.  Now it’s time for you to shut up and let me do the talking.”

Benny zips his lips and throws away the key.  She rolls her eyes. The Courier leans back, her chair balancing on two legs, with her feet propped up on a card table.  Her scarred hands rest on her toned stomach. Outside the tent, Benny can hear the sounds of the Mormon Fort -- babies crying, some grunts, coughing, the final scream of a dying junkie.  He winces. Now he remembers why he made it a rule to never set foot in this place. Benny doesn’t like to be reminded of mortality. 

“I’m not going to kill you,” she says.  “I promise.”

“Really?”

“Really.  Cross my heart and hope to fucking die.”

He smirks. “Well,  _ now _ I’m convinced.”

News flash, he isn’t.  He’s got a right to be cautious of this broad but there’s something about this whole situation that makes him wonder if she’s telling the truth.

“If I decided that killing you was what I wanted to do, do you think you’d be alive right now?  Do you think I would waste any more of my time looking at your face?”

“Ouch, baby, you know my face is the finest thing for  _ miles _ .”

So she isn’t planning to kill him, there’s a reason the Courier dragged him back kicking and screaming to New Vegas.  But why aren’t they partying it up in the Lucky 38’s  _ revolting _ cocktail lounge?  He’s standing in front of the Mojave’s most powerful woman, yet she isn’t ruling from her castle.  Why would a queen stalk in the slums?

_ C’mon, think like a big-leaguer Benny-boy. _

Perhaps it’s because the Mormon Fort is discreet.  Maybe, what she has to say doesn’t need the eyes and ears of certain people.  In this neck of the woods, those  _ certain people _ can only be the Vegas elite.  The Families. Freeside ain’t Vegas proper so the Families don’t tend to pay attention to the slums, a mistake he didn’t make.  Instead their feelers extend from New Vegas, skip over Freeside, and tumble out in the desert, gently probing the uncivilized world for anything that might benefit their empires.  If she wants to be invisible this is the perfect place to do it. Not only is it free of Family spies, she’s got some  _ aces _ protection.  The Courier just doesn’t stop making friends.  On his way in he spotted a few leather clad Kings milling about the perimeter and he swears he saw a Boomer vault suit sitting pretty as you please at the front gate.  

But there are bigger questions to be asking here, like why is the Courier so desperate to get away from the Families?  What does she want to keep hidden? And most importantly, if she doesn’t plan to kill him,  _ why is he here? _

Or maybe he’s got it all wrong.  Maybe he’s thinking about this too closely.  Nah, no way. He and the courier are the same in many ways.  She wouldn’t say it but he ain’t afraid to admit that they are a couple of crafty scheming fucks.

“You’re hard to get rid of, Benny.  Did you know that?” She asks, picking at her bleeding cuticles.  She’s got hands like a desert scaver.

“A man once told me that before I stuck a knife in his neck.”

The Courier laughs, a flat dry laugh that makes his stomach lurch.  She looks at him and cracks a smile.

“Swank told me about that.  Your old chief, Bingo. He wanted to keep wandering but you said  _ no sir _ .  You told him the future was behind a gate, not out there,” she points to the desert.  “So you killed him and brought your people to a new eden.”

“We could sit here recalling history, baby but that won’t lead us to anywhere that we don’t already know.”  He says, his voice tight.

“I disagree,” the Courier slams her chair into the dirt and leans forward.  “Get on your knees.”

Benny’s jaw tightens.   Oh how he’d love to watch her bleed like he did with Bingo.  But his hands are tied, literally, and he’s at the mercy of this woman perhaps for the rest of his short life.  Benny gets on his knees.

“Happy?”

“I just want to remind you that we  _ aren’t _ equals.  I’m about to propose something to you that might send your ego flying to the stars, so I gotta make sure all my bases are checked.”

A proposal?  What kind of proposal?  What can this bitch offer him that she hasn’t already?   His freedom was the only thing he could ask for, his  _ life _ .  The only thing left to dangle in front of him is... _ no _ .   _ No fucking way _ .  Vegas is all that’s left, the only thing he wants more than life but, the Courier is far from a fool.  She wouldn’t hand over her newly won town for all the caps in the wasteland, so what is this?

“What I’m about to say stays in this tent.  It doesn’t leave your mouth. I don’t want you even  _ thinking _ about it.  Do you understand?” 

“I’m understanding that you have something real secret that you shouldn’t be saying.  I’ll keep it under wraps, pussycat. Now spill the beans.” He says.

The Courier’s blue eyes close, then open, then close, and finally open again.  She looks pained, like whatever she’s about to say, she doesn’t want to say it.

“We’re going to make a deal.  I’m going to let you come back to Vegas and take up the mantle of head of the Chairman.  In return, you’re going to be my little lapdog.”

Is he hearing her right?  Did she really just offer him a doorway back into Vegas?  He’s so caught up in the thought of walking the halls of The Tops again that he almost misses the word  _ lapdog _ .  Almost.  

He narrows his eyes.  “What do you mean by lapdog, baby?  You realize this puppy ain’t into being  _ leashed _ , right?”

“Well if you want to be more than one of the common folk you’re going to have to embrace the leash and be a good boy.”

Benny spits in the dirt.  This ain’t right. This ain’t humane.  That doesn’t mean he ain’t interested.

“Tell me why I should do this.” 

She rubs her hands together and smiles.  “Because you aren’t going to settle for the wasteland and I need a inside man who can tell me everything that the Families do.  I’m not going to make the same mistake House did, I’m going to watch the power players and make sure they stay in their lanes. I’m not letting what you did happen again.”

Oh this broad is clever!  She deserves this town better than anyone.  She knows what to do, how to treat her fickle town, how to make sure it stays in her hands.  Her judgement is impeccable. Who better than him to spy on the Omertas and the White Gloves?  Once upon a time this was his town, and he knew how it rolled. Benny knew every shred of gossip, every rumor, every word that came out of the mouth of the big players.  He knew when every little lord and lady fucked, slept, ate, shit, and schemed. That kind of knowledge could quell a revolution, a fight the Courier doesn’t want happening again.  Funny to think that he once thought she wasn’t a threat.

But there are problems with this plan.  No doubt his boys know that he betrayed him.  They won’t welcome him home, no siree, and the rest of the Strip?  Well, he’s no better than a White Glove frozen dinner. 

“I like your ambition but you’re missing something important.”  He says.

“Like what?”

“Swank isn’t going to let me come waltzing through those doors.  He’ll splatter my brains across the carpet as soon as he sees me.”

“Why?  He doesn’t know anything.”

_ What? _

The Courier’s lips turn up in an amused smile.  “All Swank and the rest of Vegas knows is that some fuck shot me in the head and I took over Vegas.  I didn’t tell them that it was their boss who set my rampage in motion.” 

He can’t believe this.  It’s like the bitch had this all planned out from the start.   _ Maybe she did _ , he tells himself.  She’s smart enough.

“Swank told me you often disappear for days at a time, weeks even.  All you have to do is walk back in, say you had business somewhere in the Mojave, and then it’s back to business as usual.”  

She makes it sound so easy and really,  _ it is _ .  Benny is good at lying and Swank is good at believing him.  What Swank accepts, the rest of his pack with accept, and so will Vegas.  There’s a sick feeling in his gut though. All the lies, they’re piling up.  It isn’t right to lie to your second, but Benny has been doing it for years. He’s neck deep.   _ This’ll be the last lie _ , he thinks,  _ then things will return to normal. _

The Courier is right, he doesn’t want to be a wastelander again.  He’s had a taste of civility and now he doesn’t think he can truly step away.  He just ain’t too keen on being a slave.

“So I get my little slice of heaven back and in return, I give you information.  Correct?” He asks.

The Courier swings her legs off the table and leans forward.  She’s so close to him. It reminds him of two weeks ago when he was at the mercy of her blade.

“Well, that and a few other things.  You’ll do  _ exactly _ as I say.  If I say jump, you say how high.  If I ask you to swim in a sea of radiation, you better be running for your swim trunks-”

“So I’m your little bitch” he interrupts.  “I get it.”

She cocks her head to the side, her jaw working furiously.  “No,  _ you don’t _ .  Don’t interrupt.  You’ll spy for me and you’ll pretend like you’re just one of the boys, like you and me have never had any ties.  If I ask you to accompany me somewhere, you’ll do it. The Tops is your kingdom, you can run it how you like, but you won’t tell me how to run Vegas, and you won’t try to run it for yourself.”

She drives a hard bargain.  Benny licks his lips and shifts on his knees, which are now aching so badly his legs have started to shake.  The way he sees it, he doesn’t have a choice. She’ll just kick him to the curb if he says no. There is no better way back into Vegas, there is no other option.  He’ll play his part. For a bit.

“Fine,” he spits.  “You win. I’ll come back.  I’ll play your game by the rules if it gets me back into my casino.”

The Courier leans back and smiles brightly.  “Perfect!”

“Who would’ve thought I’d become business partners with the broad who I put in the ground?”

“And who would have thought that broad would be pulling the strings?”  She smirks. “Now get up.”

He stands slowly.  The Courier takes a knife from her boot and cuts the ropes around his wrists.  He’s still got scars from the Legion’s bindings. He looks up from his hands at the courier.  She’s a good head shorter than his six feet. This is the first time they’ve been side by side not as enemies, but as allies.  She stares up at him with cold, blue eyes.

“Arcade!” She shouts.

“Yeah?”  

Benny turns.  A Follower doctor with blonde hair and thick rimmed glasses peeks around the tent flap.

“Do you have any clothes Benny can borrow?  I don’t need him walking back into The Tops looking like he’s been dragged through the dirt.”

Arcade laughs humorlessly.  “I’m sure I have something. Want me to make him bathe, too?  I can smell him from here.”

“That would be great.  Thanks, Arcade.”

“I aim to please.  Follow me, asshole.”  

“You’ve got lovely friends.”  Benny growls, backing away from the Courier.  She crosses her arms and sticks her hip out.

“Yeah.  I’ve got the best of the best.  Even the most  _ disgusting _ now.”

Benny follows Arcade, but before he pushes the dirty cloth aside, he hesitates.  For the first time he realizes  _ he doesn’t even know this bitch’s name _ .  It’s just always been the Courier or pussycat or baby.  He turns around and she raises an eyebrow.

“What do you want?” 

“I’ve been so caught up in hating you babydoll, that I don’t even know your name.”

Her smirk falters then shifts into a wide smile.  

“My name is Indigo Blue.  Call me Indy.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Two Weeks Later**

* * *

 

Benny is a fucking _king_.

He sits at a poker table with a broad on either side.  One’s a redhead, the other a blond. No brunettes but he ain’t one to complain about a pretty bird.  

“Blow on the dice baby,” he says. “It’s for good luck.”

The blonde winks at him, pulls back her silky hair, and blows on the dice.  He throws, not giving a shit whether his luck is good or bad. It’s his goddamn casino so whatever money he loses goes right back into his well lined pockets.

“Oh look at that,” he says, not even bothering to glance at the dice. “A perfect roll.”

He forgets about the game.  He’s bored. He wants to mingle.  Swank is in charge of the floor tonight so he’s got time to do a little snooping, make some connections, listen to the latest gossip on the strip.  Word on the street is, the courier hasn’t been seen in two weeks. He certainly hasn’t seen her since their little soiree at the fort. Much as he misses her cute little face, he doesn’t mind.  Given him the space he’s needed to figure out his next moves.

“Baby, why don’t you go get us all a drink?” He whispers to the redhead.  “And you pussycat, go see about getting the music in here turned up. It’s so goddamn loud I can barely hear Frank’s crooning.”

His girls giggle and scatter.  Good, he’s bored. Time to disappear.  Benny dusts off his coat and heads over to where Swank and some of his boys are lounging at the edge of the casino floor.  They straighten when they see him.

“Ben-man!” Swank says, clapping him on the back. “You know, having you back is still the highlight of my day.”

Benny raises his eyebrows.  He’s so full of shit. Swank was eyeing his position the day he stepped foot out of The Tops.  When Benny walked back through those doors Swank’s face fell so far he was afraid he might not get it back.  He’s glad his second is enough of a coward not to challenge him. Sticking Swank would be a lot harder than sticking Bingo, not because Swank can best him, _hell_ no, but because Swank _ain’t bad_ .  But he would kill him if he had to...right?   _Definitely_ , he thinks. _Of course I would.  For Vegas._

“How’s the ole’ girl running?” Benny asks, taking out a cigarette and placing it between his lips.

“Humming along like a dream,” he smiles. “Ever since that broad took the helm our profits have been _aces_.  Never done better business, boss.”

Benny grunts and lights his cig.  Indy had his old lighter delivered to his room with a lovely little note that reminded him he was nothing more than a mutt begging at her feet.  Bitch _literally_ drew a fucking dog after she signed her name.  

“You leaving anytime soon, boss?” Katz asks.  Benny slowly turns to the dumb, mousy lookin’ bouncer.  He can barely fill out his suit. Benny is surprised he’s lasted this long.  Katz was one of the Boot Riders, just a kid when they sauntered through those flashing Vegas gates.

“You know Katz, it’s rude to ask a man’s business.  Anyone ever told you that?”

Katz goes red in the face. “I-I’m sorry boss.  Just, just wanted to know.”

“Yeah, well keep your wonderings to yourself.  Alright?”

Katz nods and Benny sucks on his cig.  He surveys the casino floor. Swank hastily tells Kaz to go check on security by the door and the little runt runs off like he’s had a fire lit under his ass.

“He’s asked a good question you know,” Swank says after a few moments. “You’re sticking around this time, right?”

Benny closes his eyes slowly then opens them. “I’ll do as I please, Swank.  But for now, I’m not leaving.”

“We just gotta know,” he says quietly. “You just left us, boss.  If it weren’t for In-  
Benny spins and leans in close to his second.  He fucking _dares_ Swank to say her name.  He’ll skin him alive right now if he even mentions the courier.  

“Just because I’m not here to mop up everyone’s spilled milk doesn’t mean this place goes to shit, you hear me?  We don’t need that _bitch_ to settle our own affairs.  Understand?”

Swank is stony. “Yeah, boss.  Platinum.”

He stares at Swank for a good solid ten seconds before he turns around and walks away.  Benny smokes his cig until he reaches the filter then throws it in an overflowing ashtray by the slot machines.  Why does the courier have to pepper every single conversation, huh? Why is she the savior? This is _his_ casino, _his_ game.   _His_ boys.  Fuck her, she doesn’t get to have a say in his kingdom.

“Calm down, Benny.” He mutters to himself, slicking back his hair and tugging at the lapels of his checkered coat.  He’s getting worked up over nothing. He’s back. She can’t put her dirty fingers on The Tops ever again, not until the day his heart stops beating and the his lungs stop breathing air.  And he’ll have Vegas again. One day. Maybe not tomorrow but she can’t keep hold of his baby forever.

Benny heads up to the stairs to the theater where the Rad Pack is singing an 18 karat cover of Dean Martin’s _Sway_.  He heads to the bar hoping that a little drink will help calm his nerves.  He’s been too jumpy lately, not himself.

“Whiskey neat,” he says to the bartender.  He leans against the tabletop and watches the stage for a moment before he starts on another cigarette.  The bartender, Charlie, slides him his drink and he takes a sip.

“You know, I _almost_ missed you.”

Benny jumps.   _Goddamn_.  There she is, creeping up on him again.  The courier stands before him, covered in Mojave from head to toe.  Looks like she just stepped into town and decided to stop by and share a few neighborly hellos.

“You ever shower, baby?” He asks.

“What’s the point in showering when I’ve got to clean up everyone’s shit?” She asks, leaning against the bartop.

“Be careful then.  Don’t want you ruining the upholstery.”

Indy rolls her clear eyes and turns to Charlie. “Gin and tonic.”

“Surprise, surprise.  Thought you might be a white wine kinda girl.” He says.

She doesn’t even bother to look at him.  Indy grabs her drink and kicks it back like it’s water.

“What have you been up to since I’ve been gone?” She asks.  Straight to business, as always.

“Cleaning up the mess I left behind.  Checking the books, stomping out cats who’ve been singing.  You ain’t one of mine if you’ve been humming a tune about me.  I don’t like rumors.”

That’s a lie.  He loves rumors.  Rumors are the sea upon which Vegas floats.  See, rumors ain’t too bad. Somewhere in them, there’s some truth.  It was once a rumor that House had a secret army. Then it was a fact that he could put some oomph in his securitrons and rule the desert with the flick of a button.  So yeah, he loves a good rumor. He just doesn’t care for rumors about him.

“Good call,” Indy says. “And were any of the... _cats_ you let go Boot Riders.”

He gives her a look.  “Now why do you care?”

“Assessing how far your loyalties lie.”  She says plainly.

He watches her.  Indy stares back.  Her brown hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail and her tanned skin is peppered with light freckles.  She could be pretty. It’s just the Mojave on her _reeks_.

“I believe you’re asking questions that lie in my jurisdiction.  I’ll run my casino the way I please.”

She smirks. “Yeah, well, at the end of the day hot shot, I get to ask whatever questions I want.  Oh, and I get answers too. One way or another.”

Benny takes a drink and tears his eyes from Indy and back to the stage.  The Rad Pack is finishing up and a dame in a sparkly red dress is taking the stage.

“So did you just stop by to ask questions or are you here for something else, pally?  Or did you just wanna swing?” He asks.

Indy clears her throat. “I don’t know what that means.  Whatever, I’m here to get your help. Pack your bags, _pally_.  We’re going out to do a little reconnaissance in a few days.”

“ _What_?”

“Do you not know what that means?  Do I need to grab a dictionary for you?”

If only he could smack this broad ten ways till Sunday he fucking would!  She’s got a chip on her shoulder the size of California. Benny blows smoke through his nose and grinds his teeth.

“I ain’t a Harv, pussycat.  I know about reconnaissance.  I just wanna know why you’re dragging _me_ along.”

“You’ll find out when we get there.”

Benny turns back to Indy.  She doesn’t look smug for once, she looks serious.  Dead serious. Like she knows something bad. He straightens and puts out his cigarette.

“What am I supposed to tell my boys?” He asks lowly.

“Tell them that the courier has a business opportunity that can benefit The Tops.  Tell them nothing more, nothing less.”

“Swank will ask questions.”

“I thought you didn’t need my help running your casino?”

“Watch your fucking mouth,” Benny grumbles. “I’ll handle it.”

Indy smiles. “I’ll send word when I know more.  Dust off your Mojave gear, Ben-man. “

He feels his fucking blood go cold.  It was one thing to tramp through that rad infested shithole when he was tracking the courier, it’s another to go out into with no other reason than he’s got to stay close to his handler’s heels.  Benny watches her walk out the door of the Aces with his heart hammering. The Mojave doesn’t scare him, just reminds him of a time he thought he left behind.

_The Mojave never fully lets you go._

The Singer told him that once.  Benny winces. Another bad memory.  One he’d rather pretend didn’t happen.  He does that a lot, he pretends. Another reason he fucked up getting Vegas.  He pretended the courier wasn’t a loose end, pretended that fucking her would solve all his problems, pretended that The Tops and Vegas were putty in his hands and he could have both and his cake.

“Stop crying in the rain, pally.” He mutters, taking one last swig and exiting the theater.

Benny stands, leaning against the railing, surveying his fragile kingdom.  Swank is back at the desk and several Chairman make the rounds, watching for thieves and tricksters.  But all is quiet on the homefront. Except for Benny. He feels like a swing band is going off in his head.  Then there’s that feeling in his gut like things can never be _fine_ again.  Like he’s heading straight for nowhere a million miles a minute.

 

* * *

 

She sends the croaker to fetch him.  

It’s 10AM on a Saturday when Arcade, that fucking doctor goon, walks through the door.  He’s dressed like he’s ready to go scavenging through an abandoned junkyard. Benny’s heart drops to his well shined shoes.  He knows what this means.

“You ready?” Arcade asks.  Not even a _hello_.

“Where we meetin’ doc?”

“Lucky 38 lobby.  You have ten minutes.”

He turns around and walks back out the door without a goodbye.  Swank is behind the check-in desk and he looks utterly confused and a bit suspicious.

“What’s going, boss?” He asks.

Benny puts on his best reassuring smile. “Got a job in the Mojave.  A business opportunity for The Tops. I’ll be back in a few days, don’t worry about it.”

Swank just nods, brows still furrowed and a frown on his face.  Benny knows he’s trying to figure out whether to believe him or not.  He doesn’t wait around for more questions. Benny heads up to his suite and changes into something more suited for the desert rather than his best suit.  It’s been a hot minute since he’s wandered the Wastes. Last few times wasn’t really wandering, just passing through. He’s heard all the stories about the Courier.  By the tall tales floating around, she should know every inch of that hellhole by now.

Benny sticks Maria into a holster and slings his bag over his shoulder.  He takes one good last look at his suite before he heads out, using one of the stairwell exits as to not draw attention to himself.  He really isn’t into some brainless Omerta reporting back to his boss that he saw _the_ Benny stomping around dressed like a wastelander.

He crosses the street and hops up the stairs.  When he reaches for the doors he almost doesn’t expect them to open.  Not even House let him into his fortress. Anytime the asshole wanted to communicate he did it through a Securitron.  Guess he thought real conversation would change his luck with the next protegee. Too bad it blew up in his face.

Benny opens the door and a lovely  gust of AC cooled air blasts him in the face.  The door shuts behind him and he’s alone, standing in a dark red and black lobby.  It’s a lot grander than The Tops, a bit more preserved too. The carpet isn’t as bad off and the wallpaper is somehow not peeling off the ancient walls.  Benny whistles lowly. It’s impressive, but its lonely. It would be one hell of a casino floor if there were singing slot machines, drunk broads laughing, and a nice crooner in the corner humming some sweet little tune.  But the Courier has her wrapped up tight, and for right now the 38 is about as friendly as cactus flower.

By a bar off to the left he sees the doc and three other people.  One of them is some redhead he doesn’t recognize and the other is that fucking NCR beret.  Sitting on top of the bar, swinging her legs back and forth like a child, is the queen herself.  

“Did I make it on time, your highness?” He calls.  He approaches them with swagger but he’d rather be running in the opposite direction right now.  There is no bone in his body that wants to walk outside these walls.

Indy pretends to look at a watch and bites her lip.  “You’re twenty-two seconds late but I suppose I’ll let it slide.”

The redhead scowls at him and leans against Indy’s thigh. “Jesus fucking Christ I never thought this prick would ever set foot in my presence again.  Yet here he fucking is.”

“Don’t be melodramatic, Cass.” Indy rolls her eyes. “You know why he’s still kicking.”

“Yeah I know,” she says.  “Doesn’t make me wanna put some lead between his eyes any less.”

Benny grinds his teeth.  “I’m getting real tired of everyone wanting me dead.”

“Then stop being such an ass.” Indy says, hopping off the bar.  She’s clean for once though her t-shirt and jeans have seen better days.  She’s already got a pistol strapped around her thigh and a hunting knife hanging from a holster on her belt.

“Before we go,” Benny says. “Tell me where we’re going.  Give me some peace of mind, baby. I don’t like _not knowing_.”

She smiles sweetly, _sickeningly_.  It makes his stomach turn flips.

“You don’t need to know where we’re going or what we’re doing just yet.  It’s a precaution, you see. I wanna make sure your eyes and ears in the city can’t see or hear a thing.”

He throws his hands up in the air. “Baby, the only eyes and ears here are my own and they ain’t about to go off and tell tall tales.”

Indy shrugs she takes the rifle offered by the NCR prick.  “I don’t care. These are the rules and if you want to fight them be my guest, but there are consequences.”

Benny falls silent.  He’s not gonna get a damn thing out of this broad.  One thing's for certain, she’s stubborn. When it comes to being in the dark, Benny has never felt so blind, but he respects her secrecy.  She’s smart, he admires that too, he just wishes for his own sake she was a little more loose lipped.

“Before we go let me introduce you to my people,” Indy says, shouldering the rifle. “This is Boone.  He is - or was - NCR.” She points to the man with the beret and sunglasses.

Benny smiles and claps the man on the back. “Oh I know this cat,” he says. “We spent some time together.  It was aces, wasn’t it partner?”

Boone looks at Benny and shrugs off his hand. “Don’t touch me.”

Indy ignores the exchange. “You know Arcade.  Everyone who’s ever visited the Mormon Fort knows Arcade.  And this is Cass.” She nods to the redhead who is absolutely fuming.  She looks at him like she’s five seconds away from shivving him with a dull kitchen knife.

“Pleasure,” he says.

“You’re fucking desert _trash_.” Cass spits.

“Alright,” Indy puts a hand between him and the redhead. “Let’s not bloody my casino.  Just had the carpets cleaned.”

Cass takes a step back and pulls something out of her back pocket.  It’s a bottle of whiskey. So the bitch is a drunk. He looks at them all.  They’re all rejects, wasteland wanderers and castaways, people that not even the Mojave wanted.  Where the fuck did she find these freaks? NCR kicked Boone to the curb and the Followers tolerate Arcade and this Cass seems like the drunk cousin you “forget” to invite over for Christmas.

Indy pushes past him and Cass. “We gotta go.  We gotta meet our contact before sundown and we’ve got desert to cover.”

Boone slings a polished sniper rifle over his shoulder and Arcade adjusts the plasma rifle strapped to his back.  Cass hangs back, nursing her whiskey and watching him with cold eyes as the four head towards the door.

“Hold down the fort Cass,” Indy calls over her shoulder. “Take good care of Rex for me!”

“Yeah yeah,” she calls. “I’ll take care of the mutt.  Don’t let the asshole with bad fashion sense stick you in your sleep!”

Indy waves and Boone opens the door.  This is it, his first act with the courier.  He shields his eyes against the sun and they set off, through the gate that separates the strip from Freeside.  They stroll past junkies and hungry kids and Kings who grin and shout “Hey there, sister!” when the see Indy walk by.  Then it’s the end of the line. All that divides him from civilization and the desert is a bent steel gate and it’s sliding open a bit too quickly for him.  

Indy waves them forward and he follows her out of heaven and into hell.


End file.
